


Two Plus Two

by Shinsun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Assimilating Pretty Tsunderes, Bind Safely Kiddos, Casual Relationship, Chest Binding, Crushes, Dudes And Bros, Established Relationship, FTM Tsukishima, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Scheming Wingman Kuroo Tetsurou, Total Non-stalker Bokuto Kotarou, Trans Male Character, Unsafe Binding Practices, eventual polyamory, lots of snark, tokyo training camp arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6370642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"‘M not cursed,” Bokuto frowned, scrolling through his phone again with almost childish stubbornness, “And I’m not thirsty for Akaashi.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>Kuroo snorted loudly, covering his mouth with one hand and pushing off his pillow with the other, “Sure you’re not.”</i></p><p>  <i>“I’m not!” Bokuto insisted.</i></p><p>  <i>“Oh yeah? How many pictures of him are on your phone?”</i></p><p>--</p><p>In which the simple plan of matchmaking Bokuto with his crush and ending his casual relationship with Kuroo turns into a crazy scheme that could result in them becoming a party of four...provided they can get a certain pair of pretty tsunderes on board.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s not fair.”

 

Kuroo sighed at the ceiling with an only slightly-audible note of exasperation. He considered himself a fairly patient man on a good day, but even he had his limits.

 

Still, he rolled over onto his side, settling his cheek against the pillow to face one very pouty Bokuto Kotarou, arms stretched out to hold his phone aloft over his head, thumbs dragging over the screen, absently zooming in and out.

 

“What isn’t?” He asked, coaxing his tone to be every bit as gentle and sympathetic as Bokuto needed to hear right now. Honestly, sometimes he was such a saint, he amazed himself.

 

“Why does he have to be so goddamn pretty all the time? It should be illegal,” Bokuto groaned despairingly, swiping across the screen to peer intently at the next candid photo in his lineup.

 

Of course, this was about Akaashi. Kuroo could have guessed as much before Bokuto had even opened his mouth, from the permanent pout scrunching up his face and the intermittent, pining sighs he’d been releasing for much of the past half-hour or so. At this point his crush was so crippling and completely obvious, it was a miracle the entire Fukurodani team wasn’t in on it by now. In fact, he suspected the majority of them _were,_ with the exception of one, oblivious and admittedly rather pretty setter.

 

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, amused as always by the desperate, almost drowning expression that took over Bokuto’s face as he scanned over elegant, half-lidded eyes and floating wisps of dark hair along the curve of Akaashi’s jawbone and the delicate shell of his ear. “Maybe you’re being punished.”

 

Wide, owlishly blinking eyes flitted over to him in alarm, and Bokuto sat up halfway, bracing his elbows against the bed.

“Punished?” He echoed, seeming distraught by the very idea.

 

“Yeah, like Tantalus or something,” Kuroo mused dramatically, folding an arm under his cheek to prop himself up, “Cursed to always want but never have; tortured by thirst for all eternity -- ”

 

“‘M not cursed,” Bokuto frowned, scrolling through his phone again with almost childish stubbornness, “And I’m not thirsty for Akaashi.”

 

Kuroo snorted loudly, covering his mouth with one hand and pushing off his pillow with the other, “Sure you’re not.”

 

“I’m not!” Bokuto insisted.

 

“Oh yeah? How many pictures of him are on your phone?”

 

Bokuto’s finger hovered over the screen indecisively, as if weighing the pros and cons of deleting his entire camera roll before having to answer that.

 

Kuroo raised an expectant, jibing eyebrow, and Bokuto huffed a sigh, positively sulking and letting his phone drop onto his chest in defeat.

“287,” he mumbled, locking the screen and fixing his sullen golden gaze on the ceiling overhead.

 

Kuroo let out a low, impressed whistle. “That’s quite a collection...” Nudging Bokuto’s leg teasingly with one socked foot, he fixed him with the gossiping smirk he’d been using on him -- quite effectively, he might add -- for several weeks edging into months now. “How many of those was he actually _aware_ of you taking?”

 

Bokuto bit his lip petulantly, and for a moment, Kuroo thought he might outright refuse to say, but then he crossed his arms and covered his face with them, like a little kid caught in a lie, “Counting the selfies with him, probably six.”

 

“Six? Out of almost three hundred? Damn,” Kuroo snickered, “I didn’t know you were such a creepy stalker; get out of my bed.”

 

“‘M not a stalker,” came Bokuto’s muffled protest, and with a quick contraction of his stomach muscles, he sat up as well, letting his long arms fall into his lap along with his abandoned phone (really more of a digital Akaashi Keiji photo archive at this point). “He just...looks so nice when he’s smiling, or setting the ball, or lecturing the first-years --”

 

“-- or blinking or breathing or taking up space, I get it,” Kuroo waved him off with an impassive yawn, reaching up to ruffle a hand through the back of his perpetually-unkempt hair, “So why don’t you ask him out instead of making a documentary about him?”

 

Bokuto squirmed where he sat, the beginning of a flush creeping across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears as he lowered his head to hide his flustered expression.

 

Kuroo couldn’t help a smug grin, leaning in close until he was right up in Bokuto’s face, able to feel the tick of his eyelashes against his cheeks and almost taste his breath.

 

“Hey,” he murmured, pitching his voice teasingly low as he lightly knocked their foreheads together, “Is the big, bad Fukurodani captain too shy to ask his little kouhai out?”

 

“Shut up,” Bokuto grumbled, trying and failing to turn his face away as it only continued to flood with color, “It’s not like that.”

 

“But _Bokuto-san_ ,” Kuroo pressed, affecting a much higher, nasally exaggeration of a certain second-year setter’s voice and batting his eyes coyly, “You didn’t have any trouble asking the big, bad Nekoma captain out, did you? You’re so _brave_ …”

 

“That’s different,” Bokuto insisted hysterically, waving his hands about and trying to scoot back from Kuroo’s entirely necessary invasion of his personal space, “Besides, we’re not --”

 

“ _Bokuto-san,_ ” Kuroo repeated, this time rolling his voice into a silky smooth purr, stalking closer on all fours and bringing their lips a hair’s breadth apart, surveying him through half-mast, mischievous eyes, “That mean old alley cat could’ve eaten you alive…”

 

For several seconds, Bokuto just stared at him blankly, perched at the very edge of the bed in almost certain danger of tipping off of it, and then all at once his face split in a grin and he started shaking with suppressed laughter, hunching his shoulders and poking his tongue out between his bright white teeth. Only when Kuroo sat back slightly did it burst out of him in great snickering gusts, and he fell against Kuroo in a rush, all but tackling him and pinning him down under his greater body weight.

 

“Dude, if that was supposed to be a pickup line…” he began threateningly.

 

“What, it didn’t work?” Kuroo panted, a little short of breath not least because his lungs were currently sandwiched between the mattress and 78 unyielding kilograms of solid muscle and sinew.

 

“It doesn’t even make any sense,” Bokuto pointed out, drawing himself up importantly with an edge of laughter still wrapping around his voice, “Cats don’t eat owls.”

 

Allowing his unguarded smirk to shift slowly into a leer, Kuroo craned his neck and hooked his free arm around the back of Bokuto’s.

 

“Sure they do,” he said sleekly, tracing his tongue along his lower lip with a deliberately suggestive southward glance.

 

He watched Bokuto’s gaze drop quickly, lingering on the taut lines of his neck and sweeping lower, lower...he heard his throat click as he swallowed. “You’re actually evil, you know that?”

 

“Mother tells me every day,” Kuroo quipped soberly, snagging his fingers in Bokuto’s hair and tugging lightly, “Now get down here and kiss me, you gross stalker.”

 

“I already said I’m not a stalker,” Bokuto grumbled, but obliged nonetheless, dipping his head down to sweep up Kuroo’s mouth in a slow, thorough kiss.

 

When it was over, somewhere in the reconnections between hot, shallow breaths and eagerly playing tongues, Kuroo found himself looking up at that owl’s dumb, beet-red face, and couldn’t hold in a resigned chuckle to himself.

 

“What?” Bokuto asked breathlessly, allowing Kuroo to attempt to straighten his disheveled hair for him, though he only managed to mess it up even worse.

 

“You’re not gonna miss this?” He prompted casually, skimming his fingers down Bokuto’s neck and shoulder and drawing him closer, “If you do end up snagging your pretty little setter’s heart?”

 

Were it possible, he imagined Bokuto might have flushed even darker, and he quickly averted his gaze. He didn’t answer right away, but Kuroo thought he could guess what he might have said. _We were never supposed to be serious. This is only temporary, we both know that._

 

“Dumbass,” he smirked dryly, reaching up and poking him in the face, “I’m kidding.”

 

Bokuto shot a doubtful glance his way, but it was replaced with a wide, sheepish grin so quickly that Kuroo wondered if he’d imagined it.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he went on, attempting to wriggle out from under Bokuto’s considerable bulk, to no avail, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it; you just try not to get a restraining order before then. Leave the rest to me.”

 

The next time he looked, Bokuto’s face had filled up his entire field of vision, and he was peering at him intently from about a centimeter away, eyes nearly crossing at the close proximity.

 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow skeptically, and scooted back a bit to better take in his curious expression.

 

“You’re always so down for being my wingman, man,” Bokuto noted thoughtfully, tipping his head to one side in a quirky, birdlike fashion, “Why?”

 

“I don’t suppose you’d believe it’s out of the pure, angelic kindness of my heart,” Kuroo deadpanned, sitting up halfway -- as much as he could manage with his lower half pinned under Bokuto’s powerful thighs, “Or maybe I’ve got a thing for fey, emotionless volleyball players myself and I’m just using you to get close to one.”

 

Bokuto’s eyebrow twitched, and the stubborn, childish pout was back on his face. “Fine then, don’t tell me,” he huffed theatrically, tossing his nose in the air and crossing his arms over his chest, “I was just asking...”

 

“And I’m just answering,” Kuroo shrugged, a careless smirk sliding easily into place on his face, “I have my reasons.”

 

“Why do I hang out with you again?” Bokuto sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with evident frustration.

 

“Because I’m hot and funny and fabulously charming?” Kuroo suggested helpfully, “Besides, you’re hopeless without me, that’s why I’m your wingman.”

 

“Is that why?” Bokuto groused, before adding in little more than a mumble, “...I’m not hopeless.”

 

“Says the guy with three hundred unsolicited photos and exactly zero dates,” Kuroo said smoothly, “Admit it, you need my help in a really big way.”

 

Bokuto’s lower lip was already jutting out, but his expression didn’t turn pitiful until his eyebrows joined in, as he started to sit back on his heels. “So what’s your plan?”

 

Triumphantly freeing his legs that had started to lose feeling from under the heavy bastard’s thighs, Kuroo folded them leisurely and shot him a conspiratorial grin.

 

“Bro, I am so glad you asked.”

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

As far as Tsukishima was concerned, they could both piss off, the damn, persuasive bastards. What he was doing walking complacently into the third gym upon request despite this very clear, entirely justified line of thought was beyond him. He was sore, he was _tired_ , it was almost pitch black out and he still hadn’t bathed or brushed his teeth or taken his hormones… If pressed he could probably have listed off a dozen other perfectly valid excuses, but the bottom line was that he was worn out from playing volleyball all day, and should not under any circumstances have been coerced into practicing all night. It wasn’t like he owed them something.

 

And yet there he was, struggling in vain to keep from blatantly rolling his eyes as he joined Kuroo on one side of the net, ignoring the pleased -- nay, downright _smug_ \-- grin his senior was doing absolutely nothing to hide. This was profoundly stupid.

 

Pushing his glasses irritably up the bridge of his nose, he still instinctively squared his stance and faced the net, on guard as the spiky-haired Fukurodani captain whose name escaped him at the moment went over to grab a ball, with a grin that was much more broad and open and full of apparent childish glee than Kuroo’s. How delightful…

 

Shutting the large and extremely boisterous senior’s spike out should have been no trouble at all. He wasn’t doing anything to hide his intentions or his target of aim, and the setup was so painfully predictable he probably could have countered it in his sleep. And yet, as he bent his knees and started to set up a block, he couldn’t help tracking the player warily with his gaze, and for all his certainty of success, by the time the tips of his fingers actually cleared the net, the ball was already smashing into the ground behind him.

 

With a jubilant shout and an ecstatic glance in the direction of his stoic, silent setter, the Fukurodani captain didn’t even seem to be above rubbing his victory in his opponent’s face, smirking importantly at Tsukishima and puffing his chest out.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’d I tell ya?” he crowed, throwing both fists in the air and beaming, showing lots of teeth, “I reign undefeated! How’s that for a top-five spiker?”

 

“Don’t get on your high horse just yet, Bo,” Kuroo drawled lazily before Tsukishima could open his mouth, effectively shutting the exuberant spiker down, “I’ve been beating your ass up and down the court all day, don’t forget.” Then his expression shifted to a wicked smirk, and he delivered the killing blow, “And you still haven’t made top three, but please, keep dreaming.”

 

“Ak _aa_ shi!” the spiky third-year whined loudly, “Kuroo’s _bullying_ me again, aren’t you going to defend your senpai?”

 

“He does have a point though, Bokuto-san,” the setter called Akaashi pointed out impassively, “You shouldn’t get too full of yourself just for getting past one blocker.”

 

Tsukishima couldn’t help smirking internally, though his face betrayed no hint of the flash of amusement. _Critical hit._

 

Seeming thoroughly shattered, the guy called Bokuto dragged his feet miserably over to the cart to select another ball, but when he turned around, gripping one fiercely in hand, his face was full of hard, fiery determination.

 

“Okay Kuroo, if you’re gonna keep talking all big, then you’re next! Get ready!”

 

“With pleasure,” Kuroo leered, widening his stance and shooting a fleeting, approving glance at Tsukisima as he reflexively imitated him, starting to raise his hands in preparation as the ball went up on the other side of the court. The setter intercepted it smoothly, and sent it back up in a long, fluid arc just as Bokuto’s feet left the floor.

 

“Take -- _this!”_ Bokuto grit out, swinging his arm around to slam the ball past the net, but Kuroo was already there, taunting smirk still in place as he cleanly shut it out and stuck to landing with a squeak of rubber soles.

 

“You were saying?” he prompted sleekly, seeming to watch Bokuto’s fists and teeth clenching with a sense of relish.

 

“Dammit!” Bokuto exploded at last, clutching at his gelled hair in frustration, “We’re not done, Akaashi, I have to pay him back!”

 

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, with something like fond exasperation, returning to his original position as Bokuto stormed over to seize another ball.

 

“What am I doing here again?” Tsukishima muttered to no one in particular as he straightened. The drama level in this gymnasium was approaching unmanageable, almost comedic proportions, and he couldn’t help feeling like a complete outsider among all these loud, passionate players. He didn’t even seem to be altogether necessary, and hadn’t done much to help or hurt since he’d arrived.

 

“Why, you’re a valuable addition to the team, of course,” Kuroo answered simply, bracing his hands on his hips and seeming at once mocking and somehow, bizarrely, sincere, “One blocker’s too easy, even for that dumbass.” Ignoring Bokuto’s indignant _hmph_ from the other side of the net, he went on soberly, “Besides, you’re good, but not _great_ ; wouldn’t you like to be better?”

 

“Not really,” Tsukishima muttered, lifting his shoulders in a diffident shrug, “It’s not really a big deal to me.”

 

And that was the point. The reason he’d been feeling, in all honesty, kind of left out the whole time he’d been at this training camp. Everyone else had come with a drive and a goal, and took the practice seriously and the games like life or death...while he himself hadn’t done any of that. It didn’t seem to matter much what he did or didn’t do, the result was the same and he wasn’t strongly impacted either way.

 

Kuroo looked thoughtful, biting his lip like he was actually troubled by what Tsukishima said. _Why should he care? We’re not teammates; I don’t even know him._

 

“Alright,” he shrugged finally, with a casual air so false Tsukishima could almost smell it, “I just get the feeling if I asked your bouncy little orange friend to join our practice, he’d be over the moon.”

 

“Hinata would be over the moon for _pork buns_ ,” Tsukishima pointed out coolly, “And he’s not my friend, we’re just in the same year.”

 

“And you play the same position, on the same team,” Kuroo added shrewdly, folding his arms and shifting his weight to one hip, “Everyone at Karasuno seems driven to improve and is working themselves to the bone. Everyone but you, why is that?”

 

"My, you're observant." Tsukishima turned away, “But I don’t think that’s any of your business. Are we going to practice or what?”

 

Kuroo’s gaze lingered on him, even as he sidled up beside him to set up the next block. They even stayed on him as Akaashi tossed the ball up, and Bokuto leapt to deliver it like a meteor to the back of the court, rendering Tsukishima’s block just as useless as before.

 

Something about his persistent staring was bothering Tsukishima -- even more than it would for anyone to be looking him up and down so analytically when he wasn’t wearing proper compression -- as well as what he’d said about Hinata and the rest of the team. It was itching in the back of his mind, impeding his focus and causing him to let even more of Bokuto’s powerful spikes right past his defense. He couldn’t get it out of his head, even after he’d left the gym behind and called it a night.

 

And as he lay down next to Yamaguchi and the other first years, every inch of his body aching like a gigantic bruise, he decided if he could manage it, he would do well to avoid Kuroo for the rest of this training camp.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Kind of meandering through this story (along with my other four or five that need completing/continuing). It's fun to write the dialogue and have the characters interact, but I'm still piecing together the overall plot; making this work may turn out a little more complicated than I thought. Hopefully we'll see some of these interactions pay off eventually, and this fic will get a little more shippy later on. 
> 
> Comments and feedback give me life, feed the author!))


	3. Chapter 3

It was rare to see Kuroo distracted. Especially during practice, especially during _blocking_ practice, which he excelled at. It was doubly rare to see his eyes lighten with any sort of softness, like they had as he tracked the retreating back of the unfairly tall, snobbish first-year that had accompanied them -- albeit rather forcibly -- in their extra training tonight. Bokuto could have sworn he knew that look. In fact, he knew it well, and couldn’t help smirking to himself; how the tables were starting to turn.

 

Sidling up casually to his friendly opponent on the other side of the net, he slung an arm around Kuroo’s shoulders and poked him in the cheek, grinning broadly from ear to ear.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he snickered in a devious undertone, “I thought you said you _didn’t_ have a thing for fey, emotionless volleyball players.”

 

Kuroo blinked, and tipped his head to look at him sidelong through narrow, lazily unimpressed eyes, “Yeah, I don’t. Why?”

 

 _Ooh...defensive, are we?_ Bokuto raised his eyebrows, and leaned in to flutter his lashes in Kuroo’s face, “Oh, come on. You were making eyes at Glasses-kun from the moment he walked in ‘til the moment he left.”

 

“Was not,” Kuroo huffed, crossing his arms and lifting his chin defiantly, “I was monitoring his technique, he is both of our opponent, you know. Besides, I don’t go for children; he’s practically still in diapers.”

 

“He’s a first-year,” Bokuto conceded, taking a step back to stroke his chin as he considered the dilemma. Then he stopped, and flashed Kuroo a smirk that only earned him a deliberate eye-roll in return. “A really tall, blond, _handsome_ first-year…”

 

“Shut up,” Kuroo groaned, rubbing his hands over his face, “I so do _not_ have a crush on Karasuno’s salty middle blocker.”

 

“Ohoho, so it’s a _crush_ now, is it? I never said anything about a crush, you don’t say…”

 

“Please,” Kuroo snorted, and started to walk away from him, twirling a hand dismissively in the air, “Like you have any right to make fun of someone’s love life with your whole tragic, unrequited pining scht--”

 

“Shh-shh! Keep your voice down!” Bokuto hissed, dropping all pretense of his triumphant accusation and frantically waving his arms around to shut him up, his whole body seizing up tight as he peeked slowly and warily over his shoulder. Thankfully, Akaashi didn’t seem to be privy to or interested in their discussion, and was minding his own business rounding up stray balls on the other side of the gym.

 

Bokuto’s heart reactivated, and he let his breath out in a rush.

 

“We agreed,” he reproached tersely as he turned back to Kuroo, “In confidence, that we would only discuss my…” he paused to consider the proper phrasing of their pact, and went on only after after clearing his throat and smoothing down his shirt self-consciously, “...’ _current state of affairs’_ when behind closed doors.”

 

“...And the gymnasium doors do appear to still be propped open this late,” Kuroo remarked, with a deep conciliatory bow that perfectly showcased his veiled, often completely deadpan sense of humor, “My sincerest apologies.”

 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, mister,” Bokuto warned, returning to his full, confident height and jabbing a finger in Kuroo’s direction, “We still have to get to the bottom of this _fancy_ you’ve found with our beloved Glasses-kun.”

 

“‘We’?” Kuroo echoed skeptically, lofting an eyebrow as he stooped to pick up a volleyball that had rolled against the netting covering the doorway, “And hold on, _‘beloved’_? By who?”

 

With a victorious grin, Bokuto pounced, “You, apparently.”

 

“That’s a bold claim,” Kuroo retorted, tossing the volleyball he’d been spinning in his hands into the cart beside the net, “I’m going to need to see a thorough report documenting your evidence to support it; _in triplicate_ if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

Bokuto gasped dramatically, clutching a scandalized hand over his heart, “You monster! Think of the trees!”

 

“Do you really think I’d go crushing on some uppity first-year who probably gets off on spitting in drinking fountains and kicking puppies?”

 

“Well…” Bokuto said thoughtfully, drawing the word out as he looked Kuroo up and down, “Your tone says no, but your face, on the other hand…”

 

Was that a flash of unease, that made Kuroo’s fingers flex like that?

 

“What -- what about my face?” he interrupted, turning his head to the side as though in an effort to subtly hide it from view. As if to further betray him, it seemed to be turning several shades brighter, all the way to the tips of his ears, and Bokuto couldn’t help smirking to himself. _Oh, he’s got it_ bad…

 

“Never you mind,” he sing-songed, smirking mysteriously as he bent down to pick up another stray volleyball from the floor. He could almost feel Kuroo’s eyes trained on him as he twirled it casually between his fingers, “You know, Glasses-kun and I seemed to hit it off famously, if you like I could talk to him for you...try being _your_ wingman for a change and get you lovebirds hooked up...”

 

Kuroo made a sound that could have been a derisive snort or an exasperated laugh, and purposely knocked into his shoulder from behind as he reached for the last straggler that had rolled under the net.

 

“Okay first off,” he began, with apparent forced patience, “The only person I know of who voluntarily agrees to spend time with you is me, and even then, sometimes it’s a bit of a stretch.” He ignored the beginning of Bokuto’s indignant protest and pressed on, “Second, for the last time, I do _not_ have a crush on that bratty first-year.”

 

Bokuto rolled his eyes with a grin as he pitched the volleyball into the cart, “Sure you don’t.”

 

“And _third,_ ” Kuroo cut him off loudly, before lowering his voice and softening his tone some, “Even if I did, I wouldn’t need _your_ help talking to him. I’m your wingman ‘cause you’re a hopeless case, and for some reason that escapes me at the moment, I care about you and your happiness or...fulfillment in life or something.”

 

“I’m swooning,” Bokuto deadpanned, before a thought occurred to him and he reached out to poke Kuroo in the chest, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Speaking of, you still haven’t carried out your grand scheme to make Akaashi fall in love with me. It’s been like a week, dude, when are you gonna get on that?”

 

Kuroo cast a sideways glance to the other side of the gym, where Akaashi had crouched down to talk to the lanky starfish form of an exhausted Lev sprawled out lifelessly on the ground.

 

“I am on it, if you’d stop antagonizing me about _my_ love life for two seconds and just let me work my magic.”

 

“You’ve been saying that for _days…”_ Bokuto groaned despairingly, slumping his shoulders and suddenly feeling the full impact of a the day’s training come crashing over him at once. He considered melting into a puddle of sorrow on the polished hardwood floor, but he supposed pathetic lovelorn people-puddles probably weren’t very attractive, and Akaashi was still in the room.

 

Kuroo had the grace to look sympathetic, and patted him on the shoulder with just a hint of his usual condescending sobriety, “Patience, my young padawan,” he advised, “These things take time.”

 

That got a halfhearted snicker from Bokuto, despite his attempt to remain sullen and wallow in his misery some more. “You’re such a nerd,” he sighed, to which Kuroo responded with a smirk.

 

“Like you’re not. Besides, at least I’m your nerd, right? ...For now.”

 

“Yeah,” Bokuto agreed, eyes flitting across the gym absently as he considered the morose undertone of that statement, and what it implied. “For now.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I've been having a really, really hard time writing anything lately, or really...doing anything at all. Real-life plans and such are not going well, and I've been in a bit of a rut and feeling pretty down.  
> I just needed to feel some kind of accomplishment, so I hammered out the rest of this very short chapter and called it done, because this story doesn't have as much staked on chapter length, and it's fun to write the banter between these two. Maybe getting something done will push me to work on the rest of what I've got stacked up in my docs, but if nothing else, I knocked one out and that's something.  
> Comments and feedback give me life and keep me going. I'm sorry I haven't been active in awhile, I'm trying to do better and make use of my summer. Feed the author!))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: as someone who routinely binds their chest while engaging in physical activity...do not bind your chest while engaging in physical activity. Seriously, Tsukki and I make bad decisions, don't follow our example please.)

 

The thing about participating in a sport -- while simultaneously being on the non-conforming end of the gender spectrum -- was that it presented Tsukishima with two equally distasteful options. One involved keeping his binder on during practice, which minimized the daily struggle of the locker room to a degree, and maintained appearances where they needed to be maintained, but at the rather hefty cost of like...oxygen and shit. Which, as a human being last time he checked, he did kind of need. And there was always the unlikely, but ever present possibility of breaking a rib or passing out from asphyxiation, which would be a pain in the ass (and the chest) and would probably earn him another lecture from Coach Ukai and Akiteru at best, and a trip to the hospital at worst.

 

The other option, though, was taking the binder _off._

 

Usually, he went with option one and just...didn’t try that hard, or run back and forth across the court any more than he was absolutely required (unlike _some_ obnoxious orange insects he could name). Practice was only a couple more hours to add to the school day, and he’d sat out on the sidelines the one or two times the gym had really started to spin. It wasn’t ideal, exactly, but still preferable to the alternative.

 

The thing about training camp, though, was that it was nothing but practice all day long. For days on end. Tsukishima might have been a bit heedless of his body and its limitations from time to time, but he wasn’t _stupid._ So the binder had to come off, right from the get-go, and he’d been subconsciously checking his opponents’ gazes and consciously hunching his shoulders ever since. He was just thankful that volleyball wasn’t typically a contact sport, and that he had options to minimize (but not erase) the risk of being outed to a gym full of strangers, not to mention more than half his teammates. Layering two sports bras got the job done, as far as making his shirt hang right, but an unsuspecting nudge or bump in the wrong place would still shatter the illusion.

 

Not that it would mean the end of the world to be exposed, necessarily. Yamaguchi and the third years were already in on the secret, as were Ukai and Takeda-sensei, and Hinata -- who had merely walked in on something (some _things_ ) he wasn't meant to see. And while the words _Tsukishima has breasts_ had never actually, audibly left his lips, Tsukishima got the feeling he’d told or...telepathically passed the knowledge on to Kageyama at some point. Due to some odd looks he’d received from the latter following the incident, and some ill-concealed whispering between the two often-conjoined amoebas. The point was, it wouldn't be curtains for him if others were made aware of his circumstances as well...but it would be uncomfortable and inconvenient. Not to mention tedious to have to explain things; it was a lot simpler when people just assumed he was biologically male and went from there, without going through the ordeal of politely asked impolite questions trying to _figure him out._

 

All of this was why he found Bokuto’s total, oblivious invasion of his personal space rather intolerable. More so than his loud gestures and accompanying louder, booming laugh, usually preceded by baseless comedy that even a twelve-year-old would have called juvenile. His partner-in-crime Kuroo was hardly better. A little softer with his voice and actions but just as irritating, and just as prone to cracking sad, imbecilic excuses for humor...and leaning in _way too close_ when he talked to people. People being Tsukishima, whose personal bubble was already larger and more tenuous than most on a good day, and had already been obliterated some forty times tonight by the two stooges before him.

 

How he’d let himself get snared by these two obnoxious captains  _again_ , after his silent vow to nevermore set foot in the third gym or face either of them if he could help it, was as much of a mystery now as it had been the first time. He didn’t _want_ to be here. He didn’t _need_ to be here. So then, why was he?

 

He was...spiraling, he supposed. Had been since arriving at this week-long training camp, and probably before. He didn’t know what had started it, but he knew that being around all his motivated, invigorated teammates did nothing to help it, and that being alone only made it worse. Music had offered no solace, and neither had silence, so it seemed he was simply immersing himself in...noise. Of which Bokuto and Kuroo certainly had no shortage.

 

“So you’re saying if you got it stuck in a vending machine you _wouldn’t_ try chewing it off?”

 

“We aren’t _coyotes,_ Bo.”

 

It was kind of like watching the creation of the universe, Tsukishima thought. An isolated system, as it were. Pure entropy, without cause or reason, unfolding in the blink of an eye and wreaking havoc, rushing out of the ether and sweeping up everything in its path. Calamitous, mildly terrifying, and yet strangely fascinating to watch. And so both he and Akaashi, who had at least had the sense to put some distance between the maelstrom and his person, had been sucked into silently witnessing the inconceivable argument before them, that had already taken up the better part of ten minutes and was somehow still going on.

 

“So? Desperate times, man; what if you were all alone, and stuck in a vending machine, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call for help and --”

 

“Bo. My dude. My main man.  _We don’t have canines.”_ Kuroo’s face had become an interesting cocktail of suppressed, internal hilarity, blatant exasperation, and the cool, sagely patience of a father explaining to a young child the ways of the world.

 

“We do _too_ , look,” And, leaning an arm on Tsukishima’s shoulder as if he was somehow backing this argument up, or participating in any way -- which he was _not_ \-- Bokuto used the other to pry up his lip and display his pearly white cuspids, smirking triumphantly and completely missing Tsukishima’s disgusted scowl. “Besides you know you could actually, like, bite your own finger off if your brain didn’t --”

 

“Excuse me,” Tsukishima interrupted -- why, _why --_ leveling Bokuto’s gleaming stare with a deceptively pleasant smile, “Bokuto-san, right? Can you promise me something?”

 

“Uh…” Bokuto blinked, thumb still hooked in his own cheek, elbow still digging into Tsukishima’s shoulder, “Sure, Tsukki! What’s tha --?”

 

“Never breed.”

 

Immediately following his deadpan statement, chaos erupted. He wasn’t sure where to look first. Bokuto’s jaw seemed to have come unhinged, and hung open in a wide, dumbfounded square, his eyes round and blank with shock. Akaashi’s laughter was silent and instantaneous, muffled into the back of his hand as his shoulders visibly shook, eyes squeezed shut.

 

Kuroo’s laughter was instantaneous too, but his was anything but silent _._ He clutched at his stomach and threw back his head, noise bursting out of him like a hurricane, rough and ungraceful and so _loud_ , his whole frame heaving with it. Tsukishima swore he even saw goddamn tears in his eyes, which he wiped away quickly as he shot over to thump an increasingly catatonic Bokuto on the back, thankfully dislodging his arm from Tsukishima’s shoulder in the process. Tsukishima felt rather dazed, like a whirlwind had just blown past him.

 

“Oh man, you just got _served,_ ” Kuroo was hooting, grinding the heel of his hand into Bokuto’s wild hair, making it even wilder, “Fukurodani’s finest, the famous Ace Captain, destroyed by a first-year with just three syllables.”

 

“Don’t mind, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi chipped in, still conspicuously short of breath, reaching over to pat Bokuto’s arm in an almost appallingly patronizing manner. What little remained of Bokuto’s dignity seemed to crumble, and he sagged against Kuroo with a heavy sigh.

 

“Take me home, Tetsu,” he whispered thinly, staring across the gym with hopeless, unseeing eyes, “I’ll never recover from this. My volleyball career is over, this is the end… Bury my ashes in Koishikawa Garden, under the cherry trees...”

 

“Which one, Korakuen or the Botanical Gardens?” Kuroo asked sweetly, stroking a gentle hand through Bokuto’s hair.

 

He was probably still teasing. No, he was _obviously_ still teasing, everything Tsukishima had seen of Kuroo’s character up to now suggested that he was. But there was still...something in his expression, as he petted Bokuto's head and listened to his (melodramatic and totally imaginary) dying wishes, something warm and soft and possibly...genuine?

 

_...What the hell._

“This always happens,” Akaashi sighed, bracing his hands on his knees and surveying the pair of absolute lunatics embracing each other gravely in front of them with apparent resignation, “And by the time Kuroo-san calms him down, it’ll be too late to keep practicing...”

 

“Sorry,” Tsukishima muttered out of the side of his mouth; _sorry for shattering your spiker’s will to live, it was only sort of on purpose..._ and to his surprise (and then dismay) Akaashi just elbowed him lightly, almost playfully, in the chest. Which, to be fair, was probably about as high as he could reach.

 

“Don’t --” he broke off for only a second, smoky eyes darting back up almost before Tsukishima saw them glance down. A flicker of realization still showed in them; confusion, a hint of curiosity, but he refrained from commenting on his accidental discovery and simply went on, “Don’t worry about it. There’s always tomorrow.” His smile was brief and disarming...and frankly, beautiful. It almost made up for the fact that Tsukishima was spiraling...and had been since arriving at this week-long training camp, and probably before. It even almost made up for having to deal with Kuroo and Bokuto and their combined hysteria. Almost.

 

And, even though Akaashi had refrained from commenting; hadn’t raised any politely asked impolite questions or drawn Bokuto or Kuroo’s attention away from their dramatics a few paces away...as he recalled the uncharacteristic warmth he’d seen in the latter’s gaze a moment ago, Tsukishima was surprised to find that honestly...he might not have minded all that much if he had.

 

_No, seriously...what the actual hell._

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This is a good fic to return to when I need to try and get back in the swing of things. It feels very relaxed and casual and I kind of like that, and once I get into writing it, it flows pretty well. It's fun to write these guys, even if it's only in short spurts and there's only a loose, overarching plot connecting them all so far.  
> Right now my laptop's down, so I have to kidnap my sister's in order to write anything, and have even been typing portions out on my phone, which is kind of a headache but, whatever works, right? I just feel like I need to get back into writing more regularly, it's good for me, even with my more cramped schedule, and however I can manage it, I will.  
> Comments and kudos give me life. Feed the author!))


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